Name's Frank Santos. I guess I am your average pear-shaped, cigar-smoking, half-Portuguese/Jewish, sci-fi-geek loudmouth. I drive a moped and live with my mother. Also, I'm very stylish, but in an off-retro kind of way. I'm talking about corduroy blazers with suede patches on the sleeves. Felt hats. Squishy shoes. Pinstriped trousers from long-forgotten suits. You get the picture. This from my mother: "Franklin," she shrieked, "I've put up with a lot of shit from you. You're thirty-six years-old, Franklin. When are you going to throw away those damn comic books and get a job - after your heart attack?"
There was a lot more but I'll share only that plenty of guys my age still play Dungeons and Dragons and have Star Wars wallpaper - or at least they would if their wives allowed it, which is a sadness of its own. But then I've always been able to place others' misfortunes ahead of mine (I'm just that kind of guy).
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